Prompt: #29 Note

Summary: Something so little has turned into so much.

A/N: Stand alone

Nota is Latin for "note, sign, token, mark".

Nota

Little keepsakes. Soft tokens. Items of nostalgia. Mementos. Those things that held sentimental value were new to him. Keeping such signs of emotion would only reveal that he had a weakness. That mentality has been deeply engrained into him since infancy. Emotions were weak and he had many for her. This weakness was for her. It is a weakness that leaves him feeling unhinged, even now. He has never been one to openly express things. Subtle, snide, sarcasm had been the way show his scorn and he had, had plenty of it. Never blatant. Never open. So, keeping the signs of his own affection are against his self preserving nature. There were too many risks that someone might find them. Yet, it never prevents him from hording them jealously. At first, he was not even aware that he was doing it, until he noticed that he had almost filled an entire box of them. His first inclination had been to chuck the entire box, but there it was, still neatly put away from prying eyes. There were two now and he is certain he will need another soon. If only he could keep her so safely tucked away. It is her that he really wants to horde so jealously, so protectively away from everyone else. Call him selfish. He is a King afterall. He has never been taught that he should share.

She had started innocently enough. He found the first note tucked neatly into the breast pocket of his jacket. How she had managed that, attested to how stealthy she could be. He could admire that.

Come to Tenebrae.

Simple enough and it had not been signed. Brief, to the point and there had been no need for her to sign her name anyway. He did not know anyone else that would have said such a thing and who would do such a thing. Their brief introduction was not something that he would have forgotten even without the reminder. She had still been fresh in his mind when the note had been found. He had known immediately that she had been the sender. The flowing, elegant and almost teasing penmanship was so like her. Even the paper, was not the boring, brisk, business starched white of plain paper. No. It had been the kind of natural paper that did not tear and looked better crinkled. Real leaves entwined within the tiny threads of the small sheet. The type of pen used must have been quill tipped and smooth. The ink had been dark and solid. The kind that did not fade with time. In a digital age, such an effort had touched a hidden recess inside himself. The entire sentiment had left him piqued with interest and his interest has never wavered since.

He has often wondered how she knew just where to leave these notes for him to find. The locations were always so cleverly selected. She always made sure that only he would find them. For they would be hidden in what seemed to be random places, but clearly were not. One had been in his jeans, his wallet, in his mobile cover, in his boots, on his pillow, under his dinner plate, on his computer screen. Always when he least expected them and never disregarded.

They did not always say trivial things and they did not always say meaningful things. It did not matter what they said. Just the sight of them was enough to lift his spirits. The almost scratchy texture of the paper along with the subtle transfer of her perfume from her fingertips was a blast of fresh air. She never sprayed her fragrance directly onto the paper. He knew this because the scent always seemed to linger instead of overpower. He always let the curiosity and anticipation build before he actually moved to read her words. When he finally opens them, the familiar, loving strokes of her handwriting, in that lost art form, completely appealed to his senses and fulfilled his need. A need he had not even realized he possessed.

That someone should put forth such an effort for him. Him, as a person, an individual and not a prince or Crystal remnant. Of course, at first, he can admit he had been suspicious and on guard when he received the first few notes from her. Everyone always had a motive for the things they did and he knew that Stella was no different. Only, Stella's motives had not been selfish or self serving. Her motives have always been pure. She never asked favors within these little signs of hers. He had begun to realize eventually. When he had confronted her on them, she had merely smiled that whimsical, shimmering and completely entrancing smile of hers before telling him that she wrote them so that he would know she was thinking of him. So simple. So terribly endearing. More so when she had continued to send them, even when he never sent his own. Which further proved that she really did have only the truest of intentions. It had been so very different. Refreshingly different. Wonderfully different. It was as different as color in a world of black.

When once he had found another of her notes in the presence of his friends, one had commented on the illogic of leaving such a thing for him. A simple text message would have been faster and more practical. That was completely and utterly beside the point. Usually, he would have agreed that it was wasteful but these little tokens of hers filled a yearning that he had hidden since he had been a child. That need, that knowledge of someone's affection and foresight, that had nothing to do with his position in life. Servants to look after him were plentiful. Beautiful princesses who cared so genuinely, so unabashedly, so deeply for him as a man, were nonexistent. He cherished each and every one of the notes she left for him.

Even after they had married, the notes continued. Their frequency never seeing routine or regularity. They were always a surprise. Always at times when he needed them.

I love you. For the times he could not see her but needed her assurance.

Longing for your quick return. For the times he had to be away.

I'm sorry. For the times they fought.

Listen to Ignis. For the times he was being difficult.

We shall not fail. For the times that he doubted.

There was one note, though, that had scared him witless. It had been the first and only time the effect had not been entirely positive. Mind wiped of all thoughts, color draining from his already pale face kind of fear had washed over him. Never in his life, had he ever felt so inadequate and afraid. He would willingly fight Etro instead. In a lifetime of wanting to prove his worthiness, he found himself in too much doubt to even try. Then he had seen her, had felt the encouragement and trust that she had in him. One look at her and he knew he would anyway. Doubt was still there, but there was no defense against such a glow of happiness that had beamed forth from her. A beam, a ray of startling sunshine that radiated from her lovely form. That note would be the one that stayed close to his heart forever.

We have created a life inside me.